


The Vengeful Professor Crane

by StripestheBoar



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied Torture, Maggots, Mentions of Suicide, Most of the story is told in flashbacks, Serious, Tragedy, mentions of domestic abuse, no humor, vengence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripestheBoar/pseuds/StripestheBoar
Summary: It all started when Professor Crane got a visit from a student in need. Unfortunately, fear tends to get one over on everyone.If this is well liked, might write a second chapter.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	The Vengeful Professor Crane

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so... this is different. Unlike my usual stories, this isn’t going to have any comedy. 100% serious. I also have to mention that there is mentions of suicide and domestic abuse in here. If you do read in, please, tell me what you think.
> 
> If you’re wondering, this takes place a good five years before my Teacups and Crow Feathers series.

Scarecrow’s gloved fingers flicked through the pages of his notebook, eyes quickly absorbing all information whilst also scanning to make sure that not a mistake was to be seen. Once he was satisfied, Jonathan got up from his seat with a stretch, a symphony of popping joints sounding from being in a stiff position for so long. Now that he had triple checked his work, it was time to move onto the next step.

Exiting his hideout, he scanned around until his eyes caught sight of a henchman he knew could be trusted to guard around his hideout. “Rockwell,” he ordered, catching the man’s undivided attention. “I’ve finished my work and am in need of the Riddler’s services. Get ahold of that contact of yours and have Nygma know I need his assistance. I would like it done by dawn.” Once his demand was finished and the henchman gave the usual “yes sir Mr Scarecrow sir”, he moved to go back inside when he paused to look back at him. “And do tell the other lackeys that if they don’t own a gas mask by now, they’re out of the job. I’m tired of all these accidents and I gave them a week to actually retrieve one.”

His way to the basement of his hideout was hidden behind a bookshelf, no guards down there to protect his equipment, and for their own good. Besides, he didn’t want anyone disturbing the nest.

Flies swarmed about the small lab, their only exit being a window Crane had opened ever so slightly for them to escape once they had matured. Where they came from, of course, was another tool of his next experiment. He looked into a bin he’d kept that was full of rotting meat he’d simply tossed in there. This had allowed flies to lay their eggs in them and soon infest the bin with writhing, wiggling white maggots. He watched them move around, chuckling softly to himself as he estimated that there had to be a good several hundred in there. He left them to their meat, going over to his chemicals.

Taking off his mask and brim hat, Crane took the moment to observe the chemicals brewing at his desk. Turning off the burner and picking up a test tube, he considered the sickly orange liquid, flicking it to be sure it was free from impurities. “This should be a good amount,” the Master of Fear hummed, already taking syringe and filling it with the toxin. “Now I just need a test subject to ensure its potency will suffice.” From there, his gaze turned to a board with newspaper clipping placed all around. Tales of the Scarecrow and the reports of what the police were doing to find him, as well as some news on allies like the Mad Hatter and the Riddler. Thankfully, Edward had escaped only a week ago, allowing him the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

One clipping was pinned in the middle of all of it, noticeably far more aged than the rest by more than a five years. That’s how long he had waited for this. “Just one test subject is all I need…” he murmured, unable to pull his gaze away from the face that had gotten only a single column in dedication to her.

…

It’s a wonder how some students made it this far, Crane thought as he marked his red pen against yet another paper before placing onto the stack.

“Psychology of Fear” is a class many students hear about and sign up for purely based on the unfounded belief that it would be an easy fly-by class. While Professor Jonathan Crane did always enjoy the evident fear running through a class on exam day, it didn’t change the fact that only few truly seemed invested in what he was teaching.

He paused on the next paper, eyes scanning through the tight penmanship of Maryanne, a young woman who always sat up front. He made sure to take note of every student, nothing struck fear into someone’s heart quite like being singled out in the middle of a lecture _by name_ for falling asleep. But Maryanne wasn’t one of those; in fact, he could hardly see an error on her paper and there was an evident sign of understanding the material handed to the class. Jonathan let out a pleased hum, making a note or two before placing it on the stack and beginning another paper. There were few truly invested in his lecture, but those few made his work as a professor worthwhile.

Speaking of which.

At a knock, Jonathan’s gaze rose up to the door where another student of his stood, watching him tentatively from the doorframe. He could see it even from his desk; the breathing, the student’s grip on the desk, that stiff posture despite this particular one being always slumped over a table during class. Fear, his love that he knew so intimately. And yet, he hardly let it affect his demeanor.

“Ah! Max, come in, come in,” he greeted, with a kind smile, setting the stacks away so as to make more room on his desk. “Please, close the door behind you. Lucky for you, not many came to my office hours today, so we have some time to speak alone before I have to leave in half an hour.” He gestured to the door across from his desk. “Feel free to sit. I appreciate you for emailing me ahead of time.”

Max swallowed and nodded, closing the door hesitantly, now locked within Crane’s domain. Max took a seat, backpack in lap. “Professor Crane. You wanted to talk about…”

“Your grades, yes,” Crane nodded, already knowing the situation by heart. He always made sure to quickly look over each student’s information before meeting with them. “As you know, you are failing this course, but I’m quite willing to help you with whatever resources you need to get back on your feet.” Max didn’t respond, voice stuck somewhere along the throat as the professor spoke. Jonathan recognized it well; sometimes people believed it was better to say nothing than to give a wrong answer, but this level of silence would mean no progress would be made. However, as well-versed in inducing fear as Crane was, he found himself taking a step back in order to instead reduce the fear. He opened his bag and pulled out an exam with a grade no student would be proud of.

“I wanted to mention,” Jonathan spoke, his voice gentle as he tried to make his usual environment of fear into one of comfort. He set the exam down on the table, making sure Max’s attention was on it. “This is your booklet from our first exam. I had a bit of trouble putting in your grades, unfortunately, due to the fact that you accidentally put ‘Maxine’ instead of ‘Maxwell’ as your name.”

Oh how he delighted in the fear of students, and this one in particular was quite like a nuclear silo of radiating emotion. And yet, it was different. Behind those eyes was a fear that he was reluctant to bask in. It was a fear of not just Crane, but everyone; a fear of being ridiculed and accosted because of who she was; a fear of being hurt should her secret be found out. A fear he took to heart. He folded his hands on the table. “Would you prefer it if I called you ‘Maxine’ instead?” To this he got a look of surprise and hesitation. “This stays between just you and I,” he promised her. “Do you feel more comfortable going by ‘she’?”

Maxine looked away, rubbing her neck in an attempt to comfort herself. Despite this, Crane could see some of that tension from moments before slowly leak from her. It was alright that she was afraid; he had been, too, when he was her age. People were cruel, as he knew all too well. So it brought out a warm feeling when she nodded with a smile, looking back at him with what seemed to be the beginnings of trust. “Yeah. Maxine’s fine, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan removed his glasses as he sat back into a more relaxed posture. “There are many things to be afraid of, child,” he told her, hooking the glasses on the neck of his dress shirt. “However, I am not one of them. Now, let’s talk about some resources I can direct you to in order to improve your studying habits.”

Over the next ten minutes, he ran through some sites and places on GU’s campus where she could go and get some tutoring or study quietly. She seemed to take in all of this, watching everything he scribbled down on a piece of paper for her which he slid over once he was finished. “Of course, if you have any questions, you can always email me or one of my teaching assistants whom have their information on the syllabus,” Crane continued. “Don’t be afraid of contacting any one of them— I specifically chose each one, after all, and I take the position very seriously.” With that out of the way, he watched her look over the information in renewed reassurance before placing it away. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he spoke, his voice taking on a more concerned tone, “I would like to talk about class. I’ve noticed you sleep quite a lot during my lectures.” He paused, taking in her more ashamed reaction before continuing gently. “Is there a reason for that? Are you staying up late into the night? Medication, perhaps?” Maxine had once again fallen silent, letting him take over the conversation. “If this is an ongoing issue, I can have a few accommodation arranged on your behalf. Within reason, of course.”

Maxine gave a quick shake of her head. “No-no, that’s alright,” she told him, a rather swift response he hadn’t seen from her yet. I just stay out late, y’know?”

Jonathan could see it behind her eyes. That fear. “May I ask what you are doing out so late? Is it work?”

Maxine bit her lip, her fingers playing with the zipper of her backpack. “Nah. Just some friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah, friends,” she nodded, having stopped looking at him. “Some people I know from my neighborhood. We hang out. Just… doing whatever.” The professor gave a small nod, but this time was the one silent. He canted his head ever so slightly, an indication he wanted her to continue. Yes, this was prying, but he didn’t quite care if he broke any privacy violations at this point. She looked at him with this growing trust, one he knew he couldn’t just let pass by. “Good friends, right?”

“Um…” Her hesitation spoke volumes. “Yeah. I mean, kinda. They’re just some people I met way back that I sorta just hang out with,” she told him, looking anywhere but him. Jonathan had this way of looking at someone that just seemed to instill fear, but it wasn’t needed for Maxine. When she looked to him, she saw understanding. “They’re kinda assholes sometimes, but we have fun. Going out to get pizza and all that.”

Crane nodded in faux understanding, knowing he was close to something. “Of course; I was young once, you know. We all have to have a bit of fun between our schooling. However… every night? Do you really think that’s necessary?”

Maxine swallowed thickly, rubbing her thumb along her wrist. He couldn’t help but wonder how fast her heart was beating. “I mean… it’s kinda just so I get home late,” she explained, a shrug to her shoulder. “That’s usually when my dad’s asleep.”

There it is. This familiar tightness was felt in his chest. The familiarity he felt was one he despised, and yet embraced for the sake of the situation. When she finally looked him in the eye, he knew he had her.

She hesitated under his gaze. Those gray eyes seemed like they could stare right through her and into her soul. And yet, she didn’t fear the professor. “Can… can I tell you something?” she asked tentatively.

“Maxine, you can confide anything you’d like in me,” he assured her, no longer focusing on grades or tests or failing students. “Whatever is said in this room stays between us.”

The young woman nodded, looking more confident at his words. And from there, she spilled everything.

* * *

“What a difference five years can make,” Crane sighed, tired but not ready to hang up the scythe just yet. He sat at his desk, Scarecrow’s mask hung up behind him and watching his work from over his shoulder. “Had someone told me when I was first hired there that they would install gender-neutral bathrooms within the next decade, I would have laughed in their face.”

_A decade too late, of course._

“Unfortunately…” he murmured softly, hands placed on his lap as he took the moment to breathe. “Though we can’t blame this on a restroom, can we?”

_That isn’t the point, Johnny._

“I’m just eager as you are,” he spat, looking back at the mask in annoyance. “If not more so. She was my student, after all.”

Before a response could be heard, the phone rang. Jonathan was quick to put it to his ear. “Yes?”

“Well if it isn’t the fearsome Scarecrow,” came a familiar voice on the other side. “I heard through a few lackeys that you needed my assistance. Come to to finally ask for that favor I’ve owed you?” He could hear the lackadaisical tone to Nygma’s voice; the Riddler wouldn’t just help him out of the kindness of his heart, which is why the Scarecrow had found it necessary to help the criminal out of Arkham in order to get what he wanted.

“Well this certainly isn’t a friendly check-up call,” Crane replied, already opening his lap top in order to scan for the information he needed. “I need you to break into some police records for me. A man was released not too long ago and I need to find his location.”

“And is this for business or pleasure?” Nygma chuckled on the other end, the typing of keys. “Either way it’ll be child’s play getting into the records. I just need the name and the age of the case and I can get it to you by dawn.”

“Pleasure. Most definitely pleasure,” the Scarecrow scowled, immediately drawing out a laugh on the other end. “The case is about six years old.”

“Oh.” The typing of the keys suddenly stopped there. “Oh… no need to say anymore. I already know who you’re talking about. This will be a cinch, I assure you.”

Jonathan was more than pleased by that. “Good… I suppose I’ll be hearing from you soon, then.” With that, he hung up the phone, taking a moment to calm his breathing as he scrolled through the records.

* * *

Unfortunately, it was considered unethical for a teacher to help a student beyond the standard professor-student relationship. Yes, Crane also ran a practice, but if anyone had found out he was Maxine’s doctor, there would certainly be a few questions floating about his workplace. So he was begrudgingly forced to recommend her some practices he knew of that would accept her insurance; some therapist whose cost he would cover, although he had qualms about whether or not he could trust anyone else to be able to empathize with her the way he himself did.

Maxine had kept in touch with him every other day or so after a lecture, staying around to ask the questions on her mind about assignments and the subjects she didn’t quite understand. He was always happy to help her along with any other students who visited during his office hours. Despite it being his job, he always preferred the times where he and Maxine would speak one on one; that was when she would feel safest to ask question and express her frustrations. It was during these times, after a month or so of keeping in contact, that she finally gave him the names of the “friends” that kept her out so late. He made sure to report his findings, but just to be sure, he kept this list in his files as well.

Crane had always prided himself on being a rather distant person; getting attached to anyone, especially a student, always brought about trouble. And he was right, of course, as each meeting dug up those old memories. His caretaker, the abuse, the crows, the emotional and physical trauma. Even when he’d tried to find solace with his peers, they turned out to be just as cruel, if not more so. He had been so afraid, and he saw that fear in Maxine. At the end of every meeting with her, he could see it; the fear of going back to a place where she wasn’t safe. He wanted to do something, and he did everything he could within his professional power. He contacted the police about domestic disturbance, in which they assured him it would be looked into. Nothing. He told his higher ups. Nothing. It wasn’t like she could just up and leave— she had nowhere to go. He needed to do something more, but still had this fear— a fear of overstepping his boundaries and losing everything he’d worked so hard for. He felt selfish and disgusted with himself, but he had an inkling of hope that it would turn out alright. Law enforcement would do their job, she would leave, and everything would be alright. He had hope, a hope that failed him.

When she didn’t show up for the lecture one day, he felt his blood run cold.

Hope. What good was hope when you were as abhorred by the world as Jonathan Crane?

Even still, he brushed it off as just her being sick. Which, of course, meant she would be at home all day; or, at least he hoped not. He emailed her to check up on her, an email that got no response whatsoever. By the afternoon, it had consumed his thoughts and pricked at his mind like a needle constantly. He tried, he really did, to not let the absence affect him, but even his patient noticed.

“Dr. Crane? Is everything alright?”

Jonathan’s gaze shot up as he was pulled from his thoughts. He took a moment to look at his notepad and realized he’d hardly written a thing. He hadn’t even been listening to what his patient had rambled on about for the past five minutes or so. “Ah, please forgive me,” he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Something has been on my mind recently. Something I should have left at the door. Hardly professional of me.”

The patient was quick to dismiss it with a wave of his hand. “Oh you have no need to apologize, my friend,” he said cheerfully. “We can’t always be stoic in the face of distress. Would you like to talk about it?”

Jonathan faked a smile at this. “I don’t believe I should remind you that I’m the doctor here. We’re here for your wellbeing, not mine.” And yet, he took the moment to fall back into that unprofessionalism, a frown gracing his face as he had only one thought on this mind. He bit down on the cap of his pen, eyes wandering. “Do you ever wonder why bad things happen to good people?” he finally asked, gaze flicking back to the other.

The man was obviously surprised by the vagueness of the question, but didn’t seem to mind despite that. “At times, yes,” he confessed. “Not everything can be right as rain, unfortunately. But I believe that as long as there are people there for them who are willing to help them and do what’s right on their behalf, then there is a reason to always have faith.” He smiled widely. “ _‘Tis love that makes the world go ‘round’_ , as the Duchess says.”

Jonathan took a moment to think on this, the other’s words offering a slight bit of encouragement. “I see,” he murmured. “Thank you, Mr. Tetch.” With that, Dr. Crane was back in the building. “Now, let’s get back to the subject at hand: your medication.”

_As long as there are people there for them who are willing to help them and do what’s right on their behalf, then there is a reason to always have faith._

If what you did wasn’t enough, was it still right? Jonathan wanted to believe so. After his session, he felt just a tad better, his mind drifting away from the topic of Maxine ever so slightly. He’d done all he could without crossing a boundary that would inevitably be detrimental to his work. He had to look after himself, after all.

Of course, that was before he got the email.

It wasn’t from Maxine.

* * *

_I’ve never seen you mourn before, Johnny._

Jonathan gently ran his finger over the burlap mask, staring at the stitched smile in morose silence. The door was locked. He sat by the computer waiting for Edward to send him the information he needed. For now, however, he could only sit there in thought.

“That could have been me,” he said finally. “I believed time and time again that there was no way out for me. That death was the only true salvation any god could give. And yet… I kept going.”

_You had me._

“I did, didn’t I?” Crane murmured softly. “You helped me do whatever was necessary… I suppose I was too lost in my own head to do what was truly needed with her.” As he sat back, he couldn’t help but stare off at the wall, his hand still rubbing over that rough burlap. “Every day I went to school with bruises and cuts; they knew what was happening to me… and yet they did nothing. Teachers, students; they all did nothing despite the obvious. If anything they simply exacerbated my descent.”

_Ascent._

Jonathan looker back down at the mask, a smile twitching onto his face. “I suppose that’s true, isn’t it?”

* * *

The world was silent as the professor opened the door to his home. Crows called from around, wanting his attention, but he merely shut them out with a slam of the door. They must have been able to tell he was upset, but it mattered not to him.

Crane felt this cold emptiness inside of him that swirled and churned like a black void. However, that isn’t to say he didn’t feel anything. No, he could feel the raw emotions stewing within his heart. Ugly, toxic thoughts and feelings that bubbled and swirled into a solution of malice and anger.

There was this tugging in his mind.

“I’m not in the mood,” he whispered, shrugging off his coat and tossing it carelessly to the side. His bag was tossed somewhere behind him; he didn’t care to check where or whether something was damaged.

_Johnny._

“I said I’m NOT IN THE MOOD!” he snapped, lashing out his anger for the first time that night.

Crane moved to his table where he liked to work. He pushed papers and files to the side, not wanting to look at them. They didn’t matter. He took a seat, staring aimlessly ahead. Those toxic feelings continued to brew, only worsening the longer he simply sat there and continued to do nothing. He looked around, trying to find anything to lessen these feelings, and yet it was as if everything had ceased to exist.

He covered his face, hands entangled within his hair as he simply wanted to be blanketed in the darkness, the world tuned out so the only thing he could ever feel were those dark, twisted emotions that continued to drag him deeper and deeper.

He wanted to feel the fear of those people who had tormented her.

He wanted to hurt someone.

He wanted to hurt _him._

* * *

Crane spun in his seat when he noticed his computer go off.

_‘Here’s what I dug up. He’s still in Gotham, but his lease ends by the end of the month and he hasn’t renewed it. Chances are he won’t be around by that time.’_

“In more ways than one,” the Scarecrow murmured, finding the location. A wide smile crept onto his normally stoic expression. Pulling on his mask as and grabbing his scythe, he rose rom his seat, address already burned into his memory. “Usually I’d have some thugs bring test subjects to me, but this time I feel as though it’s more personal.”

With that, he exited his hideout to find his test subject.

* * *

Matthew exited the building to find Professor Crane sitting on one of the steps to the door, cigarette held stiffly between his lips as he stared out at the chipping paint of the building up ahead. Jonathan turned his head ever so slightly to look back at who had exited the Social Sciences building of their campus. Of course, it was the dean of the college, but Crane could hardly care, looking forward once more in disinterest. “Sir,” he greeted stiffly, the only acknowledgement of the other’s existence.

“Professor,” Matthew greeted likewise, looking down at him with a concerned gaze. Tentatively he moved to slowly take a seat down by Jonathan, who failed to voice a word of protest. “How are you feeling?”

“With all due respect, Matthew, please get to the point,” Crane replied bluntly. “I’m not in the mood for skirting around the issue. Just get on with it.”

Matthew frowned deeply at this, watching Jonathan take another inhale before letting wisps of gray vapor escape his lungs and past his lips. “Your peers have issued a few complaints,” he began, only getting a sound of disinterest from the professor in question. “Your behavior has been getting out of hand. You’re scaring some of the students, Crane. Hell— you’re even scaring me.” This only garnered a flitting look from Crane. There was a small spark in his eye, it almost seemed, but it was soon gone. “We understand you’ve been upset for the past months, but this just isn’t you.”

Jonathan pulled the cigarette from his mouth, letting the smoke leave his lungs steadily as he considered the statement. He tossed his gaze to his boss, questioning his stance. “Is it, though?”

Matthew didn’t quite know what to say of the statement, instead swallowing thickly when he caught the other’s eyes once more. “It wasn’t your fault, Crane.”

The statement immediately brought a look of distaste to the thinner man, who went back to staring at the wall in general contempt. “The sentencing was today…” he spoke after a while. “I couldn’t watch; I had to teach a lecture.” He looked to his peer, his visage one of apprehensiveness, and if one would look closely, small threads of fear intertwined within. “What was the verdict?”

“Jon…”

“Morales, just tell me,” Jonathan demanded, glare hardening.

There was silence for a moment.

“Guilty.”

…

“Sentencing?”

…

“Five years in prison.”

Immediately Jonathan’s hand curled around the cigarette, snuffing its heat with his palm. His nonplussed expression hardly showed even an ounce of pain. Matt was mum, moving away from Jonathan slightly as the man practically radiated those ugly emotions. “Five…” Jonathan repeated slowly. “Five years…” The corner of his lips flicked up to a strained smile. “He gets five years.” He took a moment to remove his glasses from his face, hooking them on the neck of his shirt. “I testify in court about her stories of abuse and torment she confided in me, and her father only gets five years.”

Matthew made a noise of protest. “Maxwell killed himself. He was a very sick. They couldn’t pin this all on one m—“

“Her body was covered in _bruises_ , and yet he only gets five years,” Jonathan spat, nails digging into his own palm.

“You did all you could, Crane,” Matt protested.

“Did I, though?” Crane glared at him, dropping the cigarette carelessly on the ground. His voice was leaning on the side of hysteric as he continued, staring at the concrete sidewalk. “Did I really? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter given neither the university nor the police did _anything_ for Maxine. I mean, who gives a shit anyway, huh? She was failing her classes. She was funny to look at. She was weird. Why should we care? No one would care if she disappeared off the face of Earth, right? I mean, her _classmates_ sure as hell don’t. In a week everyone will forget about her. Is the University just going to throw away her file? I would be surprised, given they’d be doing more than they did when she actually needed some fucking help.”

Matthew felt this growing discomfort as Crane went on, not wanting to interrupt in fear of how the other would even react. It wasn’t until he was sure the other was done that he spoke up. “Jonathan, you did all you could within your professional power to help him—“

“Her.”

“— _her_. And yes, maybe the university could have done better, but you have to know this isn’t your fault. He was sick. I doubt anyone could have helped her, really. You know about the suicide rates with transgender kids these days. Chances are it would have happened even if we got involved more intensely.”

Jonathan stared at Matthew blankly, his expression absolutely unreadable. The dean swallowed, feeling as though those gray eyes were piercing straight through him and into his soul. Just the way the professor looked at him made him want to squirm in his seat. “Matthew,” Crane finally spoke. “Have I ever expressed to you how much I fucking hate you?”

Matt stopped at the sudden outburst, speechless for a moment. Usually this would call for immediate disciplinary action, but at the moment, he was simply stunned.

As though he’d said nothing at all, Jonathan pulled out another cigarette, lighting it and placing it between his lips. “I’m giving you five seconds to get out of my sight before I do something I surely won’t regret.”

“Is that a threat?” Matthew demanded in an attempt to gain back any semblance of authority Jonathan was easily dismissing.

Crane thought it over for half a second, throwing a gaze over. “If it makes you feel better, you can call it a promise instead.” The dean, and more importantly, Crane’s superior, was at a loss from words as he received that look that seemed to burn into his soul and strip away whatever walls he’d tried to put up initially. It was as if this man didn’t simply teach fear, but internalize it as well. Make it his own. Which is why the dean could only keep eye contact for a good three seconds before getting up from his spot on the stairs and heading back inside.

Once he was gone, Jonathan went back to staring at the building. Five years. He’d have to wait five years before he could even attempt any slight against the monster. He wanted to feel that fear radiating off of him. He craved it. Needed it. It fueled this ever-churning pit within him he needed in order to feel right again. He could easily go back to acting like the proper professor everyone had believed him to be, but he couldn’t do it with all these ugly thoughts stirring up within him. He needed to do _something_.

He sat there in silence, before he was suddenly fed an idea from that monster tangled deep within himself. A delicious idea, as they had put it. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. He had written it down months ago when Maxine had first confided her woes to him. It was the names of those students who helped to torment her. Bullies, really. Every name was faded a bit from age, but he could read each one off perfectly. It would only take a few good hours or so to find out who they were. After all, as students, they practically gave every detail short of their blood type to the university. As a professor, it wouldn’t be hard accessing the personal data of many of these students.

No, not students, he thought. The idea that these monsters would grow to be anything worthy in life was simply beyond comprehension. No, they were more like…

_Test subjects._

“Exactly…” he smiled.

* * *

“A five year stint in prison and yet the only real damage you can do is break one of my employees’ fingers?” Scarecrow scoffed, watching a few henchmen easily tie the man down to the chair. Usually a bag would be placed over his head in an attempt to keep them from knowing the location, but let’s be honest, if he was leaving, it wouldn’t be in one piece. “I honestly expected more, though I can’t say I’m disappointed. There is something so cathartic about seeing you so weak and pathetic when you pull at your restraints.

The man attempted to shout out something to him, but his mouth had been gagged to prevent screaming on the way there. Scarecrow watched as the man flinched under his gaze, a smile widening underneath his mask. “You can leave, boys,” he spoke to the two thugs. Once they were alone, Scarecrow observed the former father in his chair. “I wonder, do you know who I am? Does that pea-sized brain of yours realize why you are here? You most likely have no idea what I want with you, but it matters not. All that matters is that I know who you are, and you’re here with me now.”

He took the moment to bask in the confusion on his victim’s face, humming in a pleased manner as he went about wheeling in a small metal trolley you’d usually only see holding surgical equipment. With this one, however, it held various needles filled with his toxin. There also lay a notepad for when the experiment began. “Now, I’ve developed a modified formula I’ve been wanting to experiment with. It’s got an agent I’ve added to make it last longer than my last one.” He noticed the bound man was becoming more panicked as the tools were revealed, struggling against his binds. “It’s good that you’ve finally seen the gravity of our situation, my friend,” he hummed, taking up the notebook and scribbling down the date, time, and subject. “Now, there’s something always so poetic about a long and slow death. The type where one is pushed to the brink of their mind’s limits before they’re simply begging for death. After all, imagine! The fear of something not detrimental to your being outweighing your fear or death? Your basic need for survival? Fascinating, really.” He moved to a bin and brung it over beside the man’s chair to reveal those tiny, wriggling maggots feeding off of the rancid meat. Immediately the lesser monster screamed through his gag, attempting to distance himself as far as possible despite being strapped to a chair. “As you can see, I’ve done my research with you. I couldn’t exactly come unprepared, after all. What sort of master of fear would I be then?” Scarecrow sneered, kicking the bucket closer to the chair to watch the man squirm. That’s when he moved back to the trolley, skimming his hands over the needles. “I plan to be rid you of this fear of death, though my curiosities lie in just how long it will take and what the threshold is. I’ve wondered this for several years now, but... I decided my curiosities could wait for the sake some good old fashion vengence.”

He looked up to the lesser monster with a grin behind his mask. “Do you see these needles? Each one contains my toxin, save for this one.” He led up the smallest syringe, containing a clear substance unlike the rest. “Our experiment will end when you ask me to inject you with this, in which it will stop your heart and kill you within minutes.” A giggle left his lips as he took in the man’s horror. His excitement soared. “This way, I will know you’ve overcome your fear of death. By dying, of course. But don’t you worry, I’d had a friend of mine give me all the supplies I need to keep you alive and kicking until then.”

He set the needle down, going over to the bin and pulling out a handful of writhing maggots, clinging to his glove that was coated in the smily remains of the rancid meat. He looked to his newest test subject. “I’m a patient man. I can wait another five years if I have to before your mind breaks. Now, shall we begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> So... I am considering a chapter two. However, it would literally be a graphic torture scene from beginning to end. Not gonna sugar coat it. It’s dark shit involving needles, maggots, and a whole hell of a lot of mental and physical torture.
> 
> Also! Liked what you see? Follow me on tumbler at stripesthesupervillain!


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